


Pansy Craze

by magma



Series: Babe, You Always Knew I Was Dangerous [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Explicit Sexual Content, Female Impersonation/Drag, Gay Bucky Barnes, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Risky Sexual Behavior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 14:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11487948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magma/pseuds/magma
Summary: The long and short of it was, Bucky knew he was hopeless. Hopelessly queer, hopelessly entrenched in a family that had no love for people like him, and hopelessly hung up on his best friend. It was dangerous. It was sad. But it was inevitable. And Bucky was prepared to live with that.Bucky has always known he was queer.Steve has always been very confused about Bucky’s queerness.Bucky engages in risky sexual behavior.Steve engages in angst, for any number of reasons, including but not at all limited to Bucky’s risky sexual behavior.





	Pansy Craze

**Author's Note:**

> Not a fan of author’s notes, so I’m going to get all this out now and after that you’ll rarely hear from me outside of the odd End Note here and there.
> 
> The title of this story should really be “RISKY SEXUAL BEHAVIOR” because yes, Bucky gets around. Graphically and unapologetically. He does it for good reasons and bad reasons, but without shame (#slutwalk). 
> 
> But in all honesty, the working title for this fic has been “Qucky”, because while yes, Stucky is the end game, the real pairing here is Bucky/Bucky’s Sexuality. A lot of time will be spent exploring Bucky’s journey as a gay man in the 1940’s, WWII, and then the new millenium. If you can’t stomach our heroes getting busy on screen with other people or stretches of plot that do not revolve around Steve and Bucky’s relationship specifically, this is your warning. 
> 
> And while Bucky does not exclusively bottom in this story, that is the role he assumes more often than not. But if switching/top Bucky is more your jam, never fear- toppy, dominant Bucky will make more than one appearence, with Steve and other characters. Because I know I enjoy fics more with visual references, any predominant OMCs will be cast accordingly for your mind-viewing pleasure (especially when there’s smut involved).
> 
>  
> 
> **Trigger Warning for off-screen child abuse.**

 

_2016_

The music starts up- a pop-y number that Sam knows he’s heard before, but be real- they all sound pretty much the same. It’s a familiar synthy, bass heavy beat that he can’t place, like so much white girl pop music these days- probably Katy Perry or Kesha or one of those other Britney Spears types.

“And now,” The off-stage MC starts with a bit of ceremony and a lot of anticipatory intensity, “The final act of our evening, the woman you’ve _all_ been waiting for,” The stage lights dim to nothing and colorful, mostly pink and orange, little spotlights begin to swirl over the dark void. The substantial crowd of guests begins to buzz and thrum in eagerness, “She’s come all the way from Russia for your entertainment. She’s glamorous, she’s fierce,” Sam rolls his eyes, because hasn’t anyone gotten a bit sick of _that_ cliché by now, “She’s _treacherous_. She’ll stab you in the back and lick the blood from her fingers without smearing her lipstick. Hold onto your wigs, ladies and ladyboys. Gentlemen, hold on to your egos and your family jewels, because she’s tougher than you and prettier than your girlfriend- not that you need to take our word for it. Without further ado, the Astoria presents, the erotic, the irredeemable, the _dangerous_ … _Nadezhda Alianova_!”

Natasha’s twitch next to him is noticeable even to Steve, and they both look over at her in alarm. She catches their glances and just shakes her head subtly, narrowing her eyes and returning her undivided attention to the stage- this was the act she’d drug them here for, after all. Even though apparently, she’d never caught the performer’s full name, judging by how unsettled it had her. She’d just been ‘Nadezhda the Russian Danger’ on the posters.

Suddenly the pink and orange disappear, replaced by a warm gold spotlight aimed center stage, and there she is, though Sam had not caught her slinking on stage amidst the lights and sound.

But damn.

Just… _damn_.

She launches straight into the set with hardly a pause to let the gathered audience take her in, letting her act speak for itself.

And there is a lot to say.

She’s tall. But she’s a man under all that, so not too shocking. But she’s also _built_. The announcer hadn’t lied when he’d said she was probably tougher than any man in this room, aside from the obvious supersoldier- hell, she could probably give Sam himself a run for his money in the ring. Even with all the muscle definition- hell with all the _muscles_ , because damn, girl was stacked- her affect and style managed to soften the hardness of her body, making her look more like a Rhonda Rousey than a John Cena. Her hair was big, of course, and blonde, but looking more tousled than teased to achieve that kind of volume, cascading around her strong shoulders, bared by her top, and contrasting dramatically with her makeup.

She was strutting down the length of the stage to start, doing that lip-sync thing they do. And yep, Sam called it, this was 100% Britney. ‘Strutting’ hardly did her stomp-y, powerful stride justice though. He’d seen Beyoncé on videos try something similar, but even Queen Bey’s strut hadn’t had the sinister, predatory edge of Nadezhda Alianova. Girl wasn’t walking that stage, she was _prowling_. The way her hard eyes took in the crowd gave you the distinct feeling she’d memorized every face on the first pass, and was planning each of their grisly demises on the second.

She didn’t seem to have done anything too fancy with her eye makeup, but they were still obviously the focal point of her look, above the neck- they actually looked more like they were smeared with greasepaint than anything else. Dark, basically black, covering her lids, browbones, and upper cheekbones and out to almost her imperceptible wig line. Sam wasn’t all that versed in makeup, so all else he could appreciate was the defined, opaque lipstick accentuating her plush lips. They were covered in a thick, shiny layer of dark, brick red. Less like a fire engine and more like dried blood, which seemed fitting. The rest of it, obviously designed to make her features as feminine as possible- contouring or some shit- were beyond Sam’s ability to discern. It was a ferocious face though, that’s for sure.

A good match for that ferocious attitude.

The lights dimmed during the musical bridge before the start of the first chorus, dousing the stage in darkness once again, and Sam lost sight of her. With the return of the vocals, the so did the spotlight, illuminating the end of the catwalk out in the center of the crowd, and Alianova along with it.

Fuck, how does a woman- _man_ \- that size cover that distance without him noticing it? It wasn’t like the room was pitch black by any means.

She was snarling the chorus out at her cheering admirers, or miming snarling at them. It was easy to forget with the way she stared out at everyone like they were the dirt on the heel of her frankly alarmingly pointy, red patent-leather boots, never missing a beat or lyric. It wasn’t a stretch to picture this Amazon angrily growling that they’d better get to work, bitch.

The boot reached midway up her thick, muscular thigh, leaving only a few inches of smooth skin visible before the rest was concealed by more patent-leather, this time a black, form-fitting, high-waisted mini-skirt that looked like it probably had to be vacuum sealed. Those hips- as thick and curvy as promised by those thighs- twitched with the steady beat of the song, encased legs sliding smoothly through her tight but minimalist choreography. Past the waist of the skirt, extending well above her navel, another slim band of skin danced in an out of view under the looser fabric of her crop top. The edges were ripped and frayed, contrasting with the sharp lines of leather, and the graphic on the front was the name and logo of a scary looking probably-metal band, written in Cyrillic. The top was tight around her chest and breasts but roomy and almost flowing around the taper of her waist.

As scary and brawny as this chick was, it was a figure like that that made it a chore to remember those breasts were faker than fake, and lady was hiding (some probably impressive) man parts under that bodycon.

\--

Out in the crowd, Alianova predictably drifted closer and closer to their table- the club wouldn’t let its main act ignore a guest of the Captain America caliber. Tips were being shoved in every inch of her bra, waistline, and boots on her way- rest she accepted by hand, managing not to gouge any eyes with one of her short but dangerously sharp, red nails. When she ran out of fingers she’d stuff the bills in the cups of her bra with a dangerous smirk.

Up close, she was even bigger- not that Sam would _ever_ say that to a lady. But it couldn’t be denied- between all that muscle, hair, and attitude, Alianova took up serious space. Still, even at her size and in those boots, she moved almost silently, even as she drew up to their table. They all had bills ready, of impressive denominations- they were the Avengers, after all; they couldn’t afford to be stingy in public- to fork over as custom. Natasha stood immediately, drawing close to the performer with her own predatory grin. Alianova grinned right back, flashing dangerously gleaming white teeth, turning to face her head on. Natasha dared to get right up in the lady’s space, trailing two bold fingers down the other woman’s left bicep, dragging her gaze down Alianova’s body with an uncharacteristic lack of subtlety. Dark eyes rose swiftly again to meet Alianova’s completely unconcerned stare.

Natasha let their staring contest drop off, but didn’t back down. Instead, the bitch reached down and caressed the woman’s inner thigh, just below the top edge of her boot, and began to slide her way up. She peeked her gaze up briefly, as if to check in with the performer, but Alianova just met the look with a sardonically raised brow, a clearly thrown gauntlet _, I dare you_.

She did dare. The crowd was vocally and alarmingly enthusiastic about the whole debacle. Since the Black Widow had stood up, the noise had increased in pitch to absolutely deafening.

Up those fingers went, their bill cinched between them, straight up into the shadows of Alianova’s skirt without pause. When Natasha’s hand had gone as far as it could go- and good _god_ women- her other hand reached down to join the party. A moment later, both dainty hands had returned to Natasha’s personal space, sans bill.

Natasha had just stuffed her tip up Nadezhda Alianova’s goddamn panties.

The full volume of the crowd’s shrieks and screams suddenly returned to Sam. He hadn’t realized the tunnel vision had sunk in until it was receding, along with a cheeky-as-fuck Black Widow. Seriously, Natasha? Why you gotta play like that? Woman’s going to give someone- probably Sam- a coronary.

Steve was grinning and laughing uproariously next to them, at least until Alianova turned her steely sights on him.

That grin twisted and slowly died on Steve’s face as he aborted his movement to hand her his tip. Without missing a beat, Alianova reached out for the unresponsive captain’s hand, bringing it up until is rested just between her startlingly realistic tits, before slowly dragging the hand down the length of her torso until it reached the waist of her skirt. She tucked the bill in for the dumbfounded supersoldier, whose frankly confounded gaze hadn’t left her face since she’d zeroed in on him moments ago. She let his hand go, and it hung suspended for a moment before Steve dragged it carefully back to himself, folding it and his other hand into his chest with what almost looked like… reverence? Blue eyes darted down to his bill, sticking cheekily out of her waistline, then back up to her face.

The smile she aimed at him was unlike anything else she’d unleashed that evening.

For the first time, her face was warm and only softly smug, making the blatantly saucy but sincere smile she leveled at Steve all the more foreign for her man-eater character. Steve tried to speak, but it looked like his mouth had gone dry, and no words came out.

Alianova didn’t seem put off by the Avenger’s shellshock. She kept their gazes locked for another moment before concluding their interaction with an impertinent wink, returning her attention to the rest of the crowd.

But not before snatching Sam’s tip out of his grip with nary a by-your-leave. The nerve!

Sam was just about to turn to start in on the supersoldier ribbing when Steve was gripping his arm so tightly, there were almost certainly going to be impressive bruises tomorrow. He amended his plan to giving Steve a surly what for, when Steve’s other hand snapped up to pull Sam toward him by the shoulder.

“Sam…” Steve breathed, close to his ear, and if Sam strained his vision, he could see Steve still watching Alianova saunter away. He had a quip about love at first sight all lined up when Steve cut him off, “Oh my god, Sam…

“That was Bucky.”

\--

“You can’t be serious, Steve. Now? _Here_?” Sam deadpanned, completely unimpressed with what looked like another bad case of Bucky-on-the-brain Steven Rogers.

“I am. That… that was Bucky, Sam,” Steve frowned, finally tearing his eye away from Alianova to meet Sam’s incredulous stare.

Sam sighed, prepared to set the boy right and possibly suggest they head home, when Natasha cut in, “He’s right, you know.”

He met her face so fast, he was sure to have whiplash, “ _What_?”

“That was without a doubt the Winter Soldier, formerly known as James Buchannan Barnes,” There wasn’t a hint of uncertainty or humor in her tone, which Sam found terrifying.

“You’re both trying to tell me that the sonuvabitch we’ve spent the last eight months trying to track down picked up a pair of ladies’ underthings and has been living it up in Harlem this whole time?”

“That’s insensitive, Sam,” Natasha said primly, taking a pointed sip of her drink, “And he was wearing Spanks, not panties.”

Steve was frowning at Natasha now, as well, “How’d you make him?”

“I was suspicious as soon as they announced her name. After that, if you know what you’re looking for, it’s not hard to look past the foundation and padding.”

“Padding,” Steve repeated dumbly, casting another soulful glance toward where Alianova- _Barnes_ \- was climbing back on stage.

Sam cleared his throat, trying to get the man to focus here, “Well, we did expect the man might not come back all squared away upstairs, if he came back at all.”

Aaand Steve was frowning again, “What?”

“I mean,” Sam responded slowly, making sure to keep his words small, “Trauma does strange things to people. Everyone tries to process or reframe themselves differently afterward- and sometimes, things can get mixed up. Wires crossed.”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” Steve cut in, as Natasha watched on avidly, obviously looking forward to how Steve would attempt to explain this one, Steve gestured back at the stage, “This, this is _good_.”

“Well, he’s functional enough to be out among people, let alone under a spotlight. I’m not saying he hasn’t made some pretty astounding progress to get to this point, Steve.”

“ _No_ ,” Steve insisted, obviously frustrated, “I _mean_ … _this. Is. Bucky_. This was a thing he did. He _remembers_.”

“Do you mean dressing as a woman, or…”

Steve leveled him with a _truly_ impressive unimpressed glower, “It’s called drag, Sam,” Oh god, the sass on this one, “And I mean,” Steve says for the hundredth time, “Bucky used to perform, _like this_ , all the time back before the war. This isn’t a coincidence and this isn’t just progress. This is a miracle.”

And ok, the idea of James Barnes circa 1935 getting dolled up and letting it all out on the stage was going to take some serious time to process later, but that was for another time. There were more pressing issues to focus on.

At least that fully explained Steve’s categorically star struck look a minute ago.

Also, the muscles on Alianova, because still. _Damn_. Apparently, Barnes cleaned up real nice.

Also, also, what the _hell_ were they supposed to do now?

“Wait,” Sam said aloud, having just had a rather rattling thought, “What happened to that arm?”

 

_1926_

It was on one of Sarah Roger’s first Saturdays off from the ward when it happened.

Encouraged by one of the first bright warm days of New York spring, she’d insisted on treating her boys to a day out on the boardwalks and byways of Coney Island and Rockaway Beach. It didn’t matter that she’d be skimming from her stockpile of funds reserved for Steve’s annual winter maladies- it was a chance to give her son and his best friend one of those carefree days of childhood that growing up poor in Brooklyn so often robbed them of- she wasn’t taking no for an answer. And by nine she’d managed to herd her small brood onto the B train and onto their adventures.

The two of them were buzzing with excitement. Little Steve had finally come around to letting her splurge on them, only when she made it clear she needed this as much as they did- which wasn’t strictly a lie. Bucky had been much quicker to acquiesce, his own family never having had the means to pack off four children to the amusement park- he could barely contain himself, and that boy’s enthusiasm had always been like a drug for Steve. Bucky was turned around in his seat, watching the outer neighborhoods of Brooklyn fly by, chattering at Steve faster than Sarah had the energy to follow. Steven was only slightly more subdued. He sat right in his seat at least, halfheartedly listening to Bucky’s monologuing, but making sure to keep Sarah’s hand locked in his own, not for a moment letting her forget how much he appreciated the excursion she was offering them. The poor boy needed to learn how to lighten up a bit. Fortunately, Bucky Barnes was more than up for the job.

The train reached their stop and she mildly coaxed the two excitable adolescents out of the car.

“Holy cow, Steve! It’s the ocean!”

“Yeah, Buck, it’s the same one we see in Red Hook.”

“No, Steve, this is _Coney Island_ ocean, alright? They’re nothing the same, and you know it.”

Luckily, there were clear signs posted between the platform and the park for her to follow as she shepherded them along, passing the kitschy storefronts and nautical inspired restaurants that had thus far managed to survive the worst of the Prohibition thanks to the tried and true flood of tourism to the waterfront.

“Hey, ma, what’s that going on over there?” Steve tugged softly on her sleeve, pointing shamelessly toward a large group of men haunting the sidewalk out front of the Coney Island Lodge and Hall.

“Oh, honey,” Sarah murmured, gently pulling his hand back, “Those men are just getting ready for a party, is all.”

Steve seemed placated by her answer, and was summarily distracted by a few… fascinatingly… garbed women heading for the lodge. Bucky, however, had followed Steve’s gesture as well and was still staring brazenly at the gaggle of men and now women in open captivation.

“But why are they dressed like that?” He asked as she attempted to steer them toward the boardwalk and arcade preluding the park, “Some of ‘em are dolled up like dames, aren’t they?”

“Bucky,” Sarah sighed, having hoped to avoid just such a conversation. The good Lord knew what George and Winnie had already told Bucky about those types, “Those men are… a different kind of man. Some of them dress as women do, yes. It’s not polite to stare.”

“There’s different kinds of men?” Bucky shot back, not taking a hint, “Like how some folks are Irish and some are colored?”

“Not quite like that, dear,” Sarah answered dryly. Maybe if she dropped it there…

“Are there different kinds of women, too?” It was Steve who asked this time. So insatiably curious once he’d gotten a mind. It was there Sarah resigned herself. She hadn’t made plans to discuss homosexuals with Steve, but had suspected it would come up eventually.

“Yes, just the same. Those types of men- and women, I suppose - are different because they don’t… _love_ like normal folks do,” That was one word for it. Good Lord above.

“Huh?” Steve looked more confused than Bucky, though Bucky was still preoccupied craning his neck to continue eyeing the congregation of fairies and bulldaggers like some sort of peep show.

“Like how men go with women out on dates and kissing. Those men want to go with men and those women with women. Bucky, you _must_ stop staring, young man.”

“But why do they want to do it like that?” Steve persisted. Bucky at least stopped goggling.

“That’s just how they were born. Those men have female desires and can’t help the way they’re put together.”

“Do they gotta dress like that, then?” Bucky asked, looking thoughtful, “Because they want men like women do?” It was a little too close to the truth for Sarah’s comfort, even though Bucky was nine and likely more than aware of the ways in which men and women desired each other, thanks to the dodgier parts of Brooklyn they’d grown up in.

“I suppose it’s not necessary no. They do it because they like it, and you’d do best to just leave those types alone, Mr. Barnes. They don’t need any more hassle than they already get, you understand?”

Both Bucky and Steve nodded, but then the pier came in sight and it seemed the pansy show was forgotten.

\--

It had been a year since Mrs. Rogers had told them about the fairies out on parade and Bucky knew it was time to talk to Steve.

“You remember Coney Island?” He started, not really sure how else to bring it up.

He was lounging on his stomach in Steve’s bed reading comics while Steve sat on the floor, sketching the view out over the fire escape _again_ ; it was such a _normal_ afternoon, it had to be the best time for something like this, right?

Steve just grinned, “Yeah! You made me ride the stupid Cyclone like four times, even after I threw up, and I won that hat at the arcade,” That hat had been stolen by some dirty bullies a few months later, but it’s okay because Bucky’d gotten those rotten mickheads back in no time.

“Yeah, but I mean before. All those folks outside the park.”

After appearing to think it over, Steve nodded, “That buncha fairies, right?”

“Yeah, them,” Bucky agreed, but trailed off, unsure of how to continue, even having gotten this far.

After a few beats of silence, Steve glanced up, “What about ‘em?”

Bucky chewed his lip and pretended to be really super invested in whatever was happening on the page, even though he couldn’t even remember what he was reading.

He chanced a quick glance at Steve, but averted his eyes right away when he found Steve looking back, “You ever think about them?”

Steve shrugged, returning to his drawing, “Sure, sometimes. When I see folks like that down by the yard. They don’t seem so bad,” Bucky almost cried in relief, “One of ‘em bought me a soda once after Charlie McCarren shoved me around a little.”

Bucky’s gaze snapped up, “When the hell was this? I thought he wasn’t givin’ you trouble no more?”

“Well, not after that fairy gave him a taste of his own medicine, he ain’t. Wouldn’t want the rest of the class to know a guy wearing stockings gave him a shiner, would he?”

“I s’ppose,” Bucky agreed, only slightly mollified, but they’d gotten off topic, “So you don’t think they’re so bad then?”

“I don’t really get why a fella would want to make time with another fella, but that’s their business, I guess. Besides, I hear a lot of those digs in Times Square have ‘em up front as hosts and stuff, so they must be kinda nice, right?”

“Yeah, I heard about that, too,” Bucky admitted. Yeah, he’d heard. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“What’s all this about, anyway? You get an eyeful of something over by Frank’s?”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky sputtered, “Why, have _you_?”

“Once,” Steve shrugged again, like it was no big deal. Christ. Bucky waited for Steve continue, but it seemed his friend had no more to say on the matter, so Bucky soldiered on.

“And? What happened?”

“Some fella was browning a fairy in the north alley and I walked by. I didn’t stay to chat or anything, geez. They didn’t even see me.”

“You didn’t think that was weird or gross or anything?”

“I dunno, Buck. It didn’t seem all that different from catching a sailor with a working girl, if you know what I mean. Yeah, they coulda been more discrete but they’re not hurtin’ anybody.”

They continued their business in silence for a while before it seemed Steve’s short fuse was up and he ran out of his limited patience. He tossed his papers down with drama and glared at Bucky like he’d kicked a kitten or somethin’.

“What’s all that about anyway, Bucky? You got a problem with queers allova sudden?” His anger was always an explosive little ball of self-righteousness and fury barely contained by his small body. But that was Steve Rogers in a nutshell. Always ready to jump in for the little guy when there was a battle to be fought.

“ _Christ_!” Bucky startled, dropping his book, not expecting the sudden outburst, “Geez, _no_ , Steve.”

“Then _what’s going on_ , Bucky? Why would you bring all that up?”

Bucky didn’t have any words he thought would calm Steve’s ire, so he just sat up, leaving the comic where it’d fallen, choosing to look out the window at the drying wash than meet Steve’s eye.

“Buck,” Steve sighed before climbing up on the bed next to him, “You’re doing the lip thing again,” Bucky had a bad habit of worrying his lip when he was nervous or upset that Winifred Barnes had enlisted Steve’s help in stomping out.

“That day at Coney. It just made it all different, okay?”

“What’s that suppose t’mean?”

“I’m _sayin’_... it’s not like we didn’t know those types weren’t around, and all. But seein’ them all there just being… you know. It’s different.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve prompted, with unusual gentleness.

“And then that stuff your ma was sayin’. I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about it, after. It’s not like I haven’t heard my dad talking about the inverts and the queers before. But that was different. Everything just seemed different after that.”

“You keep sayin’ different. Different _how_?”

It took Bucky a long time to respond, but Steve managed to find himself some patience for the first time in his short life. It could have been minutes or hours before Bucky answered.

“I’m… I’m one of those types. I’m _different_ , Steve.”

Just saying the words out loud had Bucky feeling like all the blood had frozen in his veins. Why? _Why_ had he felt like he needed to share this with Steve? Sure, they talk about everything- there weren’t any secrets between them, _ever_. But this didn’t have to be like that. Bucky could have kept it to himself. Kept this part of himself he’d known was there far away from his best friend, because this was it. This could, and probably would, change everything. Bucky could lose Steve over something like this. He didn’t know what he’d do with himself after that, but he’d deal with it.

It would be easier than pretending this part of him wasn’t there. It would be better than _lying_ to Steve, even by omission.

The two of them were quiet for a long time.

It had gone on long enough that Bucky was about to just pack up and head back to his parents’ place rather than deal with the quiet for any longer because he just couldn’t- _couldn’t_ be the first one to speak after unloading something like that. He just couldn’t keep _waiting_.

“Are… are you sure?”

It felt like the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding was punched from his lungs, “Christ, you think I’d bother telling you something like that if I weren’t _sure_?”

“No. No, I guess that’s right,” Steve sighed, swiping a hand through his floppy bangs, “Geez, Buck.”

Bucky just laughed, and maybe it was a little hysterical, but Jesus H. Christ, _Bucky_ was a little hysterical right now, “Yeah, tell me about it.”

“But, how d’you _know_? It’s not like you ain’t ever kissed a girl. Maybe… You haven’t kissed a fella, have you?”  
  
“ _No_. I ain’t kissed nobody and you know it, you jerk. I don’t need to know somethin’ like that.”

“You’re only ten, right? How can you really know?”

Bucky groaned, “I wanted to hold Arnie Roth’s hand during temple when I was _five_. It didn’t get it then, but I get it now. I don’t think about ever getting hitched to a dame the way I’m supposed to think about. I actually kinda hate thinkin’ about that, a lot. It hasn’t gone away and I know what that _means_. It’s just something I know. That I’ve always kinda known.”

Steve sighed, “Okay, I get it.”

Bucky waited a few moments, just to see if this was the part where Steve asked him to leave, but nothing happened. Until something did.

Steve wrapped his wiry little arm around Bucky’s shoulders, as close of an approximation to the way Bucky did it as he could manage.

“It’s okay, Buck. It’s alright, okay?” He just held Bucky there for a second, “Doesn’t change nothin’. You’re still a huge jerk and I hate the way you steal my pencils and keep beating me at sprints, but you’re still my best friend, okay? That’s what you’re scared of, right?”

His breath hitched like he wanted to cry, but he held it back, “Really?” He coughed, trying to make his voice sound less _small_ , “I mean, yeah, I was ‘fraid it’d be something like that.”

“Well, you’re a big mook, so I’m not surprised. You should know me better, but you’re such a dope.”

Bucky knew Steve was trying to rile him, to bring them back to center, but, “Yeah, I shoulda known better.”

He felt Steve’s fist clench against his shoulder like the little shit knew Bucky was still strung out and reeling. Bucky slouched down a bit and let his head fall against Steve’s shoulder. He’d allow Steve to keep being the strong one for now, because he was just too worn out to do otherwise. He actually just really wanted to cry right now, but knew it wasn’t an option. Maybe just sleep would be good.

He was just starting to drift off when he heard Steve whisper into his hair.

“I’m with you, Bucky. I’m always gonna be with you.”

 

_1931_

Steve answered the door close to midnight, knowing that at that time of night, in the middle of a storm like that, there’s only one person it could be.

“Bucky,” He sighed, but opened the door wider, allowing his drenched friend into the room.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky answered, trying to sound nonchalant, but between the hour and the waver in his friend’s voice, Steve knew Bucky’s composure was hanging on by a thread. Steve knew Bucky better than he knew himself.

He let Bucky hang up his useless jacket and collapse onto their threadbare couch as Steve set the water on to boil before launching in.

“So, I assume you got me up in the middle of the night for a reason. What’s he done this time?”  
  
Bucky’s dad was a stand up guy, most of the time. He was funny, smart, and generous with both his family and Steve’s- at least as much as he could be with the Crash still weighing heavily on them and their whole community. George Barnes loved his family more than anything in the world, yes. But that didn’t mean he was perfect. Sure, he was more tolerant than the next man, due in part to being the son of Irish immigrants and married to a Jewish woman, but he still held little esteem for colored folks or, god forbid, the _Italians_.

He also vocally agreed with those who thought the pansy epidemic was a direct attack on the moral core of American values.

Bucky let out a long, pained sigh, but there was a stutter in his breath that had Steve digging their paltry first aid supplies out of the cabinet, “Becca told ‘im she’d seen me talkin’ to a couple of fairies down by the docks. Again.”

“What the _hell_ , Bucky?” Steve growled, dragging their well-used kit over to the couch, “What’d you get caught doin’ that for? Ain’t no good comes of hanging around those-” _Types_. He caught himself before he could really stick his foot in it, “Fellas. You know that.”

“You know _I know that_ , Steve. I didn’t _plan_ on her seein’ me. She shoulda been home by then. Ma had her out picking up flour.”

“Why’d you even risk it like that, then?”

Bucky just glared at him, “Who the hell else am I supposed to talk to about this stuff, Steve?”

“You talk to me about it enough,” Steve grumbled as he rucked up Bucky’s shirt to get a look at the expected bruises.

And it was true. Steve was _thankful_ to this day that Bucky had trusted him enough to tell Steve his deepest secret almost three years ago, but since then, for lack of another audience, Bucky had come to Steve with anything and _everything_ queer related in his life. He confided wistfully in Steve about his lingering affections for Arnie, whose family the Barnes still had dinner with once a week after temple. He confessed to Steve when he’d swiped the latest issue of the most popular bodybuilding journals ( _yuck_ , thanks, Bucky) or Broadway gossip rags from the newsstands. He talked about the dime store novels he’d heard about and was desperate to read, written about doomed men who loved other men by queers riding the relative tolerance of the pansy craze like a wave. And Steve had never turned him away, no matter how unsettled Bucky’s revelations had him.

“Is it so weird I’d want to talk to someone who gets it once and a while? I’m ‘round normals all day- can’t I try to meet people who understand where I’m at once and a while?” Bucky snapped, wincing as Steve applied a slather of Epsom salts to the bruising.

Steve didn’t respond, a little hurt by the way Bucky had just lumped him in with the normals he’d grown so inwardly resentful of. He’d always done his best make sure Bucky knew he could tell him anything, to give him a place where he didn’t have to _hide_ anything. Not from Steve, and the brush off of his efforts stung.

Bucky seemed to notice, if his sudden deflation was anything to go by. He wasn’t surprised Bucky’d noticed, either. Bucky knew Steve better than he knew himself, after all, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean- I know I can come to you with all that stuff Steve, I _do_. Why do you think I’m here? It’s just not the same sometimes.”

“But goin’ to them puts you in danger, Buck. I _hate_ that.”

“You think I do this to hurt you, or somethin’? It ain’t like that. I don’t do it for dear ol’ da and his love of queers, either. It’s for me, okay? I need to do it for me.”

“But _why_? Why do you need to do it at all?”

“This is who I am, Steve. I ain’t ever gonna be normal like you or dad. And someday I might even like to find a fella who likes me the way he likes ma, and I can’t do that if I just rot away in here with you and my mags. I don’t want that kinda life.”

Steve understood that. He _did_. They were at the age where, unless you were Bucky, you started noticing girls in a way you hadn’t before. The boys in their classes were starting to enter puberty, Bucky included, and Steve was feeling his runty-ness more than ever, wondering if any girl would ever see him through the veritable sea of boys in the world. Boys like Bucky.

Because while Bucky may not be looking at girls like that- not with any intention outside of keeping up appearances, anyway- girls were looking at Bucky. Bucky had put on a few inches over Steve in the last few years, and his skin had thus far managed to avoid becoming the pimply mess that Steve and other boys couldn’t hide. On top of that, Bucky was handsome, in a soft way, with sharp cheekbones starting to emerge from the baby fat and large, clear eyes Steve had definitely heard gals in school tittering about. They thought his dimpled chin added a _rugged_ edge to his _pretty_ features, and they all wanted to hold his hand. None of them wanted to hold Steve’s.

So yeah, Steve got it. They were both swimming in a sea of romantic despair.

He wasn’t even mad at Bucky for attracting that kind of attention without a lick of reciprocal interest, either. Not when those same looks had George Barnes more subconsciously concerned about Bucky and his fairy friends than ever. It was written in every black eye and bruised rib Steve and Sarah had patched up after George went on a drunken, insecure bender, agonizing over his son’s stubbornly slight build and delicate features, rugged dimples or no.

Truth be told, Steve wanted Bucky to find that connection he was looking for, too. He didn’t want Bucky to be alone any more than he wanted himself to be.

But he hated hated _hated_ to watch the bruises fade even more than he did Bucky’s loneliness. He felt helpless in the face of Bucky’s stubborn grasping for a community that only seemed to leave him broken under his father’s prejudice.

“I just want you to be safe,” He admitted, finishing up his nursing and returning the supplies to the kitchen. The water was boiling anyway.

“I know, Steve,” Bucky sighed, turning himself gingerly to lounge on the couch. Steve would fetch him a blanket after they’d finished their tea, knowing Bucky wouldn’t be headed home until tomorrow, when Mr. Barnes was back to his genial self, “It won’t be like this forever, I promise. I just gotta find my place, that’s all.”

“Isn’t there anythin’ else you can do, for now?”

Bucky shuffled around a bit trying to get comfortable on the ratty couch, “Was thinkin’ of taking my uncle up on his boxing lessons. Least then I could hit back once and a while.”

“Or at least learn how to dodge ‘em,” Steve teased with a small grin, handing Bucky a cup.

\--

The long and short of it was, Bucky knew he was hopeless. Hopelessly queer, hopelessly entrenched in a family that had no love for people like him, and hopelessly hung up on his best friend.

He knew he was lucky to have Steve. He was so lucky Steve put up with the likes of him (as much as he put up with Steve and his love of getting punched). He was lucky Steve saw every bit of him and his ugly otherness and had never even considered turning him away. He was lucky he had Steve’s couch cushions to crash on when da got a little too far down into his cups. He was so _so_ lucky Steve loved him, and he loved Steve and they’d continue to do anything for one another.

He was just unlucky that it couldn’t always be that simple; at least not for him.

He’d had crushes before. On Arnie, back in the day and even now- with his dark curly hair and his smiling eyes. On one or two of the older boys taking lessons at the boxing gym where his uncle had started to coach him on weekends. On one gal in one of the upper classes who didn’t take any shit from the testosterone addled boys who gave her a hard time, and held no compunction about knocking their lights out when they gave her a hard time for her mannish figure and choppy haircut- he was secure enough in himself to admit it.

He knew he had a crush on Steve. It had probably been there for a while, just waiting for him to notice. Steve was nothing like Arnie, who was taller than Bucky and a bit pudgy where Steve was small and bony. Dark and curly where Steve was blond and floppy. Sugar and spice and lingering looks over the dinner table under the oblivious eyes of their families where Steve was spit and vinegar and barely controlled rage at the world.

Bucky knew he could probably kiss Arnie some day and get away with it. Arnie would probably even kiss him back.

Bucky knew he could love Steve forever and never get away with anything. Steve would accept his love with a sad smile but never bring himself to return it.

It was dangerous. It was sad. But it was inevitable. And Bucky was prepared to live with that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The song Nadezhda is lip syncing to is Work Bitch by Britney Spears, in case you didn't catch it.
> 
> [Obama impersonation] Let me be clear, [/] I love Ke$ha, and I do enjoy me some Britney and would never mistake one for the other- that's like catching 99 Problems on the radio and telling your friend that you're happy for them and you'll let them finish but... Get it together, Sam. Also, ‘fierce’ will never be cliché, Sam, you should be ashamed of yourself.
> 
> So, there is it- no smut in sight and the beginnings of something like a plot. If you are interested in following the story of this queer Bucky Barnes don’t be too surprised if it’s awhile before this is continued. I have always preferred to finish a story before sharing it and this one is still in progress. I just wanted to get this prologue out there for anyone who enjoyed the porn teaser I posted previously but were curious about the main story.
> 
> Thanks for checking it out!


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